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Francis Ledwidge - Behind the Closed Eye
Work rating: Low

I walk the old frequented ways 
        That wind around the tangled braes,
     I live again the sunny days
        Ere I the city knew. 

     And scenes of old again are born,
         The woodbine lassoing the thorn,
     And drooping Ruth-like in the corn
         The poppies weep the dew.

     Above me in their hundred schools
       The magpies bend their young to rules,
   And like an apron full of jewels
       The dewy cobweb swings.

   And frisking in the stream below
       The troutlets make the circles flow,
   And the hungry crane doth watch them grow
       As a smoker does his rings.

   Above me smokes the little town,
       With its whitewashed walls and roofs of brown
   And its octagon spire toned smoothly down
       As the holy minds within.

   And wondrous impudently sweet,
       Half of him passion, half conceit,
   The blackbird calls adown the street
       Like the piper of Hamelin.

   I hear him, and I feel the lure
       Drawing me back to the homely moor,
   I`ll go and close the mountain`s door
       On the city`s strife and din.
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